


The Only One I Know

by Fastern



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Enemies to Enemies, Frenemies, Gen, Gore, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Memory Loss, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fastern/pseuds/Fastern
Summary: After Zim receives a head injury at the end of Enter the Florpus, Dib uses the opportunity to take him prisoner and observe the Irken healing process. Chaos, waffle eating, and excessive use of the caps lock ensues.





	1. Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> So. I hear we're having an Invader Zim renaissance. Sign me the fuck up.

For the first time in however long Dib could remember, everything was normal.  
  
He wondered if his life had ever been normal. Growing up in a house where your father was an insanely intelligent scientist, your sister threatened to skewer you daily, and your archnemesis was an alien, the 'ordinary' tended to be skewed on the best of days. Given recent events, even Dib’s boundaries of strangeness had been pushed somewhat. Watching a giant hole ripped in space after said alien archnemesis transported an entire planet all for the sake of pleasing his leaders was definitely high on his list of strangeness.  
  
But everything was back the normal levels of strange Dib preferred, and the world was piecing itself back together after its ordeal. In the darkness of his room, Dib overlooked the sizeable collection of files and data he’d gathered on Zim. The collection took up several filing cabinets and who-knows-how-much data on his computer. Everything from surveillance footage, to reports about his anatomy and what he knew about Irken culture. Anything that didn’t fit into the garage. Dib flicked through Zim's stolen report card. For an ingenious space alien, he sure wasn’t academically gifted, though even he wasn't immune to Ms Bitters' scathing remarks.  
  
Dib tucked the report card back in the file folder and kicked it closed. The filing cabinet sucked it back up with a loud bang and he swung around to face his monitors, putting his feet up on the desk.  
  
Well, it had been a good rivalry. Maybe even a great one. But with the Irken Armada tumbling somewhere in an alternate dimension with no hope of ever escaping, Zim didn’t have a motivation. What was the point of conquering when there was no empire to conquer it for?  
  
Of course, that didn’t rule out the possibility that the Irkans weren’t completely eradicated. There would still be pockets of them out there, and maybe a couple hundred million of invaders like Zim in deep cover on other planets. The loss of the Armada was a crippling blow, but not a final one, if the Irkans were as numerous as the intelligence Dib had gathered was anything to go by.  
  
So when he heard the doorbell ring, Dib didn’t have any reason to think that Zim was in any way involved.  
  
“Gaz, get the door!” Dib screamed.  
  
“Get it yourself!” Gaz screamed back.  
  
Dib waited for exactly two rings before shouted, “Dad! Door!”  
  
His father's voice yelled back, “I’m in the middle of delicate—AAH!”  
  
"SCIENCE!" Clembrane called.  
  
Dib leaned forward and slammed his forehead on the desk. Fine.  
  
He hopped off his chair and raced down the stairs. He found Gaz sitting on the couch, right across from the still-ringing doorbell. The ringing had become more incessant, like a child pressing the bell over and over and over again.  
  
“You could get the door,” Dib suggested.  
  
“Sure could,” said Gaz. She didn’t even look up from her game.  
  
Dib rolled his eyes and swung open the door. The ringing didn’t stop.  
  
He looked around to the left and right, then down. An all-too-familiar sight was still ringing the doorbell. It was GIR, Zim’s annoying little robot minion dressed in its dog ‘disguise.’  
  
“I like the ringy dingy!” GIR giggled.  
  
“Zim’s robot is here to destroy us all!” Dib exclaimed. He somersaulted back and hid behind the couch. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge! HIDE, GAZ!”  
  
GIR laughed in response, and Gaz didn't stop playing her game.  
  
“I’m good at hiding!” GIR exclaimed. He put his hands over his eyes. “You can’t see me!”  
  
“Stay back!” Dib jumped on the couch armrest and pointed at the robot. “I’m not afraid of you anymore! I saved the Earth!"  
  
“YEAH! GOOD JOB! WOOHOO!” GIR clapped enthusiastically.  
  
“Yeah, I did,” said Dib. “So why don’t you go crawling back to your master and tell him that if he wants a rematch, he’s got to come here himself instead of sending you to do his dirty work.”  
  
GIR stood there for a long, long moment. So long that even Gaz's thumb hovered over a button.  
  
Then, GIR burst into tears.

  
  
“Master is DEAD!” GIR wailed. He threw himself onto the welcome mat, kicking and screaming like a toddler being denied a second dessert. The ‘toddler’ metaphor might not have been a metaphor.  
  
Dib hopped off the couch and stared at the writhing robot on the front porch, considering his options very, very carefully. Zim dead? Hard to believe. He’d seen Zim break every bone in his body and come out okay. More likely GIR was being insane or misinterpreting signs.  
  
“Okay,” said Dib. He shut the door.  
  
He went to sit by Gaz as they listened to GIR screamed and cry. The noise was unfortunately impossible to muffle—and it was piercing. Nails were being driven into Dib’s brain. And then the bell started ringing on repeat, over and over again. He could feel physical pain from the noise, hammering on the inside of his skull. His fingers gripped the couch with white-knuckle strength.  
  
Gaz let out a long sigh. “Its voice is annoying. You better deal with it before I wreck you, Dib.”  
  
Dib let out a huff through his nostrils.  
  
He pried open the door again to find GIR still in tears flailing on the step, in a full-blown tantrum.  
  
“So Zim’s dead—so what?” Dib asked. “You can just find a new...master, or whatever.”  
  
“Don’t wanna new master,” GIR sobbed. “I like _my_ master.”  
  
More crying. This was getting pathetic. How could a robot cry without short-circuiting, anyway?  
  
“Look—are—are you sure he’s dead?” Dib probed. “Are you sure he’s just not sleeping or something?”  
  
“Who?” GIR sniffed.  
  
“Zim?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Your master? He’s green? Screamy? Likes trying to take over the world?”  
  
“Oh, him! Yeah, he got squished.”  
  
“Squished?”  
  
“Flat as a pancake! But not as tasty. I licked him.”  
  
“Oh.” Images of a great squished green blob on the ground rumbled through Dib’s imagination. It was a little satisfying. “Can I see?”  
  
“Okeedokee!” GIR chirped. “Fol-low me!”  
  
“Er, wait right there for a second,” said Dib. “I gotta grab my alien autopsy kit.”  
  
GIR sniffed and started crying again. “I’m gonna miss that boy...”  
  
Dib slammed the door in the robot’s face and raced back up his stairs, heart pounding. Could Zim really be dead? What else would leave GIR in such a state? On the other hand, he knew better than to trust GIR at his word. He wasn’t exactly stable on the best of days, even when he had Zim around to direct his insane energy.  
  
Fortunately, Dib had something ready for such an event. He pulled his alien autopsy kit out from under his pillow and checked the contents. Everything he needed was in there: scalpel, rib cutters, scissors, lasers, microscope, and the likes. Dib then wrenched open his filing cabinet and pulled out the file on everything he knew about Irkan anatomy for reference if there was anything left to peel off the floor. As he was about to step out, he considered bringing a weapon with him, so he fished out the handcuffs he saved especially for Zim.  
  
GIR was still crying where he’d left him on the doorstep. As Dib approached, GIR pulled a black veil out of his head and draped it over himself.  
  
“OH, MY MASTER!” GIR wailed. “I’ll think of you whenever I eat soapy waffles...”  
  
“Let’s, uh, go see how bad it is first before you eat funeral waffles,” said Dib. “Going to an alien autopsy, Gaz. Tell Dad not to wait up.”  
  
“Tell him yourself!” Gaz snapped back.  
  
Then the door was closed, and Dib rushed as GIR waddled off in a hurry.  
  
Dib knew the walk to Zim’s house by heart. He’d set up spy cameras on every street corner between his house, Zim’s house, and the school, just to be sure that he covered all his bases. That didn’t even count all the familiar haunts Zim and his minions frequented. He probably knew the way better than GIR, something that he proved by having to redirect the robot when he wandered down a side street leading away from their destination. Dib tried not to make too much conversation with GIR during the journey. Engaging with a distress alien robot didn't seem like the best idea.  
  
Even if he did talk with GIR, the robot was too enthralled with his grief to notice and spent most of the walk crying. They had to stop once or twice to let him bawl his eyes out for a minute or two. Sometimes people would stop and stare at the sobbing green dog wearing a black veil until Dib gave him a gentle nudge to get him on his way. Other than that, most of what came out of GIR’s mouth was unintelligible nonsense, his words blubbering behind thick sobs.  
  
The whole time, Dib’s mind swirled, and the more he got a sinking feeling in his stomach that something was amiss here. GIR was genuinely upset. He hadn’t seen GIR so sad since the incident where Zim had taken over the couch. However, the sadness here seemed far more poignant than it had back then, more real. Either he really wasn’t joking around, or GIR was so lost in his insane delusion that he was convinced in its complete truth. Either way, Dib was eager to clear it up with the alien, himself, if he was still in talking condition.  
  
When they approached the house, GIR slowed to a crawl, and Dib had to drag him the remaining distance to the door. As they approached, Dib noted a hole in the roof that he didn’t remember being there.  
  
“Okay, evil robot, if this is a trick, this is your last chance to tell me or I'll disassemble you for spare parts,” said Dib.  
  
GIR cried harder. “Come back, waffles!”  
  
GIR threw himself on Zim’s front step and flailed.  
  
Well, he wasn’t going to get anything constructive out of the robot. Dib found the door unlocked and pushed it open.  
  
Zim’s house was unnaturally still. A test card with the Irkan emblem was displayed on the television, letting out a low whine that was the only noise. Minimoose hovered over the couch, staring at the screen like it was the series finale to its favourite reality show.  
  
Dib’s attention only lingered on the television for a moment when he saw the crater containing what was left of Zim right in front of it.  
  
As he’d suspected, GIR had exaggerated some of the details. Zim’s body was fully intact, and he lay flat on the ground in the centre of the crater, with a very sizeable lump growing on the back of his head. Dib edged forward. He wondered if this was a trick of some sort, but he didn’t think that Zim was capable of sitting still for as long as he was. He stepped into the crater and approached the body.  
  
GIR joined him shortly, having calmed himself a little, though he still shed a tear or two at the sight of Zim.  
  
“Oh, Master!” GIR cried. “You were so delicious.”  
  
“So, uh, what happened exactly?” Dib asked.  
  
“The puppy fell from space and pancaked him,” GIR explained. “Then I sent it back to its people.”  
  
“...Uh-huh. And he’s dead?”  
  
A heavy grunt sounded overhead. The computer. Dib’s nerves went on edge.  
  
“He’s not dead,” he computer growled. “He’s just unconscious. Hopefully, he stays that way.”  
  
“There, see?” Dib said to GIR. “I told you he was sleeping.”  
  
“Master...not dead?” GIR sniffed.  
  
“No.”  
  
GIR blinked. “Well, okay then! Time for couch.”  
  
GIR pulled off the hood of his costume and threw himself onto the couch, reaching for the television remote. The screen changed to some inane child’s cartoon which even an infant would think was idiotic.  
  
He looked back down at Zim. In all honesty, the alien didn’t look good. His head was swollen to a rather impressive size.  
  
Dib poked him with his toe. “Hey. Zim. Get up.”  
  
Nothing.  
  
Dib sighed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this...”  
  
He knelt at Zim’s side and turned him over. Zim's green skin was much smoother than he expected it to be—like silk. Dib's hands glided over the surface. He found that his eyes were open, but all squinted and with no signs of actual consciousness. Dib poked him in the eye.  
  
“Hey, Zim,” Dib prompted again.  
  
Still nothing. Time for drastic measures.  
  
Dib knelt even closer, putting his mouth right next to his head where his ear would be if he was human.  
  
“HEY, ZIM, THE TALLEST ARE HERE!”  
  
Again, nothing.  
  
“Yeesh, he must’ve gotten clobbered really hard by...whatever it was that did this,” said Dib. “And I’m talking to myself again. Just great.”  
  
Dib scanned the room. GIR seemed to be placated by the assurances that his master was alive and was rocking back and forth on the couch, Minimoose orbiting his head like a satellite. They probably wouldn’t be much help.  
  
It was then that Dib came to a startling realization.  
  
Zim. Unconscious. Helpless. After doing the worst thing he’d ever done and nearly dooming the Earth to an eternity of flailing around in a space void.  
  
Dib pinched himself to make sure this was reality.  
  
When he smacked his face a little and convinced himself that this was real, he stared back down at Zim’s unconscious form. This was it. This was the opportunity he’d been dying for since the first time he'd laid eyes on him in that musky classroom filled with Ms Bitters’ old person smell.  
  
“COMPUTER!” Dib shouted.  
  
“What?” the computer groaned overhead.  
  
“Do you have a wagon or something that I can borrow? Maybe a wheelbarrow?"  
  
“Why are you still here?”  
  
“I need to get him back to my basement and dissect him, and I need to cause as little damage as possible! Please! It’s for the good of mankind!”  
  
“I think it’s a little late for that. His skull is crushed.”  
  
“AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE!”  
  
“What’s the big deal? You don’t need to bother dragging him out of the base. He has an autopsy room below.”  
  
"...Oh, yeah," Dib remembered. He wasn't sure why he'd forgotten that detail. "Ha! Revenge will be sweet. You’ll be dissected in your own lab, Zim!”  
  
Zim’s leg twitched.  
  
It took quite a bit of maneuvering to peel him Zim off the floor, with the computer very helpfully criticizing his progress, and GIR humming the whole time. However, Dib eventually managed to throw Zim into the trash bin and climb in with him. It was a bit cramped, but it worked. Then the ground sank downwards and off they went.  
  
The computer brought the elevator right to the laboratory. Dib had been there a few times, mostly as a prisoner, so he knew the step-up well enough. Plus, having Tak’s ship had given him ample opportunity to become familiar with Irkan technology. He rather ungracefully deposited Zim on the examination table, locked the metal restraints in place, and headed over to the massive computer that took up most of the space on the wall.  
  
“Computer, how hard will it be to persuade you to help me perform this dissection on your master?” Dib asked.  
  
“Not hard at all,” said the computer.  
  
“Excellent,” Dib drummed his fingers together. “Scan Zim and display the information on screen.”  
  
“Oh, yes, my new master! Whatever you say, Master! I’ll get right on it, Master!”  
  
“Okay, okay, no need for an attitude. Why Zim gave you a personality, I don’t understand.”  
  
“Do you want this scan or not?"  
  
“Sorry,” Dib squeaked out.  
  
A scanning device unfolded from the ceiling and swiftly passed over Zim, then Dib turned to the screen as the results were displayed. While he’d gotten x-rays of Zim before, it was a special treat to have such detailed results. His attention passed with rapt interest over the singular collective organ in his chest before going to the head.  
  
As the computer had said, Zim’s skull had been completely crushed. Skull fragments danced under the flesh, and the space where the brain should’ve been was filled with a mushy liquid. Pushing up his glasses, Dib noticed a few cybernetic odds and ends stuffed into his skull, most notably right behind his eyes. Presumably, parts the Irkens inserted into their soldiers to make them more efficient at conquering the known universe.  
  
“Jesus, are you sure he’s still alive?” Dib asked with a grimace. “His brain’s kind of...not there.”  
  
“Irkens are annoyingly tough,” said the computer. “His PAK should repair most of the damage eventually.”  
  
“Right, his personality’s stored in there, anyway,” Dib remembered. “I guess a destroyed brain’s just an inconvenience to an advanced alien race.”  
  
Dib returned to Zim’s side. He poked his head and felt a skull fragment shift.  
  
“Is there any way to accelerate the healing process?” Dib asked. “I’d prefer to dissect a healthy specimen.”  
  
“Sure, just let me get my medical degree out of the closet here,” the computer drawled. “Oh wait, I can’t, because I don’t have a closet, and an artificial intelligence can’t have a medical degree.”  
  
“Ugh, you don’t need to be sarcastic about it,” said Dib. “I’d like to research the relationship between the Irken brain and the PAK. How am I supposed to do that if the brain is mushy?”  
  
“Do I sound like I care?’  
  
“Do you always have this attitude? Is this what Zim puts up with most of the time?”  
  
“Oh no, I seem to be experiencing a fatal malfunction!”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t—”  
  
_“Suicide protocols engaged!”_  
  
Dib turned back to the screen in time for a little icon depicting a computer monitor hanging from a noose, along with the words ‘FATAL ERROR.’  
  
“If you wanted out of a conversation, you could’ve just said so,” Dim grumbled.  
  
Dib overlooked the scans again, zooming in to get a closer look at Zim’s brain. The damage was impressive. If he didn’t know better, he almost believed GIR’s story. He mentally pieced together some of the fragments, like some grotesque three-dimensional puzzle. The pieces were smaller in the back and larger in the front, so whatever had hit him had come from above and slightly behind at a tremendous force. The impact must've liquefied his brain matter. Still, he’d seen Zim recover from remarkable injuries that would’ve been fatal to a human. He half-believed the computer’s assertion that he would heal.  
  
This would be a fabulous way to observe the Irken healing process. If he could keep Zim in a contained space and monitor his condition, he could document it all. He could watch the brain stitch itself back together from nothing, and maybe determine how the PAK was able to keep an Irken alive under impossible circumstances. Once Zim was healed, he could dissect a healthy specimen and compare the results.  
  
It was a method Membrane would approve of. A calculated, controlled, detailed study. There was no way he would be able to disparagingly dismiss Dib’s assertions about the existence of alien life. Furthermore, the other agents of the Swollen Eyeball wouldn’t dream of ever calling him insane again. A manic smile stretched across Dib’s face as he thought up of names for a research paper, one that would rock both the scientific and paranormal world. Finally. Finally, after all these eons of suffering, of people not believing him, he would be vindicated.  
  
Dib looked around at Zim’s laboratory around him. While this place had plenty of equipment, he wasn’t sure he trusted the location enough to keep Zim here. It wasn’t secure enough, and Zim knew the place too well. Depending on how lucid he would be when he woke up, he could launch an escape attempt and foil his plans. Worse, the computer, GIR, or Minimoose could decide to intervene on his behalf.  
  
Fortunately, Zim’s capture being a moment that Dib had prepared for long in advance, he already knew where he was going to take him. He could turn Zim in, yes. But then he wouldn’t get credit. Then he wouldn’t be able to satiate his curiosity. No, there was only one place for Zim, and that was the personal Zim-designated prison Dib had built at his house ages and ages ago. The Zim Bunker.  
  
The need to laugh surged through him and exploded out.  
  
“This is it, Zim!” Dib shouted at Zim. “You’re going to my house and you’ll never leave it alive! Your world-conquering days are over! Ah ha...ah ha...HA, HA, HA, HA!” He choked on salvia and coughed. “How do you do that evil laughter all the time?”  
  
Dib released the restraints on Zim, half-expecting him to jump up and proclaim that it was all an elaborate ruse. When he didn’t, however, Dib seized his ankle and dragged him back to the elevator.  
  
As he was leaving the house, he waved a farewell to GIR who was still entranced by the television and made no effort to rescue his braindead master despite his previous concerns about his death. Dib dragged Zim the remainder of the way home.

* * *

The Zim Bunker was located in a secret room in Dib’s closet. When he returned, he found the remainder of the family eating away in the kitchen, and somehow—someway—he managed to sneak past them and hauled Zim up the stairs, knocking his head on each step. Fortunately, the sound of Clembrane insisting on pudding for dinner was enough to muffle the noise.  
  
If his dad knew that Dib had built the Zim Bunker over months, there was a good chance he’d be proud despite its intended use. It was small—it was a bunker, after all. A single hallway in a sterile white environment, dark save for the cyan lights. The walls were covered in machinery and scanners he’d ‘borrowed’ from Membrane’s lab. Some of it was out-of-date, only held together by Dib’s determination to one day bring Zim here. At the very end of the hall was a curved glass wall looking into a cramped cell. Dib hadn’t been able to afford much room to it due to the constraints of his house and trying to keep the project a secret. But it was functional, complete with scanners, tools, robotic arms that came out of the walls to control the subject if needed.  
  
In Zim’s current state, it was easy to see that he wouldn’t be that much of a problem, at least until his brain reformed. If it reformed. He wondered if there would be any difference between a reformed brain and the old one, and he kicked himself for not having anything to compare it to. Dib made a mental note to keep an eye out for any personality changes.  
  
With Zim locked behind the glass wall, Dib turned his attention to the console where the scans were displayed. There had been little change in the last few hours, with skull fragments still floating freely in his head. He set the scanner to monitor the subject continuously.  
  
“Dib, what the hell is _he_ doing here?”  
  
Dib screamed. He swung around. And there was Gaz, his little sister, who always knew too much but always did too little, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.  
  
“G—Gaz!” Dib stammered. “It’s not what it looks like!”  
  
“Really?” Gaz glowered. “Because it looks like you’re locking Zim up in your ‘secret’ alien prison.”  
  
“H—How did you know about this place?!”  
  
“Geez, Dib, I live here, y'know. You’re not subtle.”  
  
Gaz marched up to the glass, assessing Zim, then the console, then Zim again. She tapped on the glass.  
  
“Gaz, get out of my room!” Dib whined.  
  
“What happened to him?” Gaz asked, taking in Zim’s squashed skull. “You couldn’t have done that. You’re weak and useless.”  
  
“It—It doesn’t matter,” Dib flushed. He moved to push Gaz away from the glass, but with one glare, he faltered. “I’m—I’m going to run a few tests and observe his healing process.”  
  
“Not under this roof, you aren’t. In case you forgot, Zim actually almost won for once in his stinking life, and you want to keep him in this house to run your weird alien experiments?”  
  
“It’s safer to keep him somewhere that I can monitor him.”  
  
“That’s a terrible idea. Why don’t you vaporize him and get it over with?”  
  
“But then no one will believe me!”  
  
“No one ever believes you, Dib. It’s because you’re stupid.”  
  
“Look, he’s not your archenemy, so you don’t get to decide what I do with him,” said Dib. “I might never get an opportunity like this again.”

  
  
Gaz shoved Dib against the wall, cracking her knuckles. “And you will never get an opportunity to _live_ again if this causes any trouble. The whole florpus thing was enough excitement for me to handle. Now I just want to sit down on the couch, play games with Dad, and beat you up. No aliens, no Mysterious Mysteries, no weirdness. Got it? I want this to be a normal. Happy. _Family_."  
  
Dib put up his hands in surrender, hoping his anxiety didn’t show. “Don’t worry, Gaz. Zim’s brain is literal mush. There’s no possible way for him to cause trouble whatsoever.”  
  
A gurgling noise sounded from behind the glass. Both he and Gaz’s heads snapped to look in, and slow-slow-steady, Zim staggered to his feet.  
  
His movements were jerky and uncoordinated like a haunted wind-up toy, his legs locking under his body and pushing up. His spine bent at a ninety-degree angle so his upper torso flopped around like a breathless fish. Dib and Gaz stared for a moment, then backed up as Zim slammed his head against the glass, skull cracking against it with a thick slap. Drool smudged the glass as he slid down to a heap on the floor.  
  
Dib smiled in satisfaction as if that proved his point. Sadly, Gaz didn’t seem to interpret that Zim’s haunted jerky behaviour in the same way.  
  
“Any trouble and you’re dead,” Gaz snarled.  
  
Gaz glided backwards out of the room and around the corner, never blinking or taking her eyes off of Dib. Sweat dribbled down the back of his neck.  
  
The air still felt heavy and burdensome even after she was gone. Dib watched Zim drooling on the ground, satisfied that the alien was pacified. All he had to do was sit back and watch the healing process, and he could even send a report to the Swollen Eyeball to inform them of this major victory.  
  
There was no conceivable way that anything could go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horrifyingly, I'm almost 27 and ready to relieve my edgy middle school phase.
> 
> Fun fact, when I was a kid my mum told me not to watch Invader Zim because it was too violent. So naturally I watched it anyway. I didn't like it at the time and feel that as I entered my unfortunate adulthood, I learned to like it a lot more. So either my sense of humour devolved or evolved, I guess we'll never know.
> 
> This story can be read as Zadr if you'd like it to be that way, but it can also be platonic if you'd prefer that. I like Zadr but shipping isn't the main thing on my mind when it comes to this weird little show. Either way I really just wanted to write something a bit more lighthearted, but there will be angst because what is life without a little angst in it.
> 
> Anyway, if it tickles your fancy, leave a comment or a kudos, and have fun folks.


	2. Memory Loss

It was past midnight, and Dib quaked with his barely contained excitement. He’d given presentations to the Swollen Eyeball before, but had never given a formal one-on-one with Agent Darkbootie. Dib had been prepared for a Zim-focused presentation since the day he'd first met and had the speech memorized. So with Agent Darkbootie’s silhouette on the monitor, he rattled through his notes and findings and evidence. He didn’t have to think about what he was saying. It was all there, in his head, bursting to come out and spill all over the floor.  
  
Agent Darkbootie had been reluctant to hear him out, but after showing him a live feed of Zim locked in the Zim Bunker, he went quiet. Dib recounted the events that had led to the 'Florpus Incident' and afterwards. For the most part despite lacking some pieces of evidence here and there, Agent Darkbootie listened. He spoke very little throughout the presentation except to ask the occasional question or to rub his chin thoughtfully. Somehow, chin-rubbing said more than his actual words did. By the time Dib was wrapping up, it occurred to him that he had no discernible read on Agent Darkbootie. Whether it was because of the shadows he was cloaked in, or because he was concealing his emotions, or because Dib really was dumb, he couldn’t be sure.  
  
“—and so, locked in my state-of-the-art Zim Bunker, I now have the would-be destroyer of Earth and all of mankind, safely imprisoned,” Dib finished. “Although it’s a small threat compared to the might of the Irken Armada, it’s a victory that will be remembered throughout all of human history. And if we present him to the media, then there’s no way any skeptics could deny the reality that we are not alone in this universe!”  
  
Breathless and sweating, Dib outstretched his arms, shoulders heaving. A genuine, excited smile lit up his features. Agent Darkbootie remained in darkness.  
  
“You’ve done efficient work, Agent Mothman,” Agent Darkbootie said. “You were always annoying, but you’ve managed to not be a complete disappointment. Even if thanks to your actions the Earth was almost annihilated.”  
  
Dib’s smile flickered.  
  
“If you had kept your ego in check, you never would’ve given the alien the opportunity the needed to enact his insane plan. Although it can’t be denied that you rectified the situation, you should have immediately reported to the Swollen Eyeball.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dib apologized. His chest cinched a little, tightening like an old demon reaching him to grab his heart. “It won’t happen again. I just thought that no one would believe me unless I made a show out of it. No one ever has in the past."  
  
Agent Darkbootie let out a low, disapproving hum. It didn’t cut quite as deep as Membrane’s disapproval, but it cut nonetheless. “I know it’s difficult for you to behave reasonably, but make an effort in the future. We’re fortunate that the initial danger has passed and I don’t want a repeat of this incident.”  
  
“I promise it won’t. The Irken Armada is somewhere between dimensions and Zim has been captured. There’s no way this’ll happen again.”  
  
“It better not.” Agent Darkbootie’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“I’d like to contact the media to expose Zim, for real this time,” said Dib. “They need to know the truth about what happened.”  
  
“No. Not yet. If word of the alien’s existence gets out, people may panic. There will be questions given recent events. Are there any more aliens among us? Can we detect them? What are their plans? Providing immediate answers will alleviate public fears and give the Swollen Eyeball the advantage it needs to control the spread of information.”  
  
“I guess that makes sense,” said Dib. He hadn’t even detected Tak’s true nature until Zim had made his crazy accusations. Dib wondered if he sounded as crazy to outsiders as Zim had that day. “So what do we do?”  
  
“I want you to continue your research while I consult the other members of the Swollen Eyeball,” said Agent Darkbootie. “We’ll look into leads about the aliens and see if there’s any indication of more of them on the planet. They could have deep cover agents.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s the case, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”  
  
“Exactly. During your observation of the alien, I want you to see if you can extract any pertinent information out of it and I want daily reports of your progress.”  
  
“You can count on me. I won’t let you down.”  
  
“I hope not, but forgive me if I have a healthy amount of skepticism given your past actions.” Agent Darkbootie’s eyes thinned. “Best of luck. Agent Darkbootie out.”  
  
The moment the screen went dark and the lights went out, Dib became wobbly and boneless. He fell backwards onto his bed.  
  
Staring up at the ceiling, Dib smiled so hard that his cheeks pinched and the smile threatened to rip the jaw right off his head. He'd done it. Sure, Agent Darkbootie wasn't happy with some aspects about how Dib had engaged with Zim, but the important thing was that he believed him. And for now, Dib had complete control over Zim until the Swollen Eyeball made a final decision. Earth was safe. Dib would get his recognition soon. Everything was finally going perfectly.  
  
And tomorrow...tomorrow, the dissection would begin.

* * *

Later the next day, Dib pulled on the arm-length rubber gloves he’d borrowed from his father with a snap and examined himself in his bedroom mirror. It was a rather impressive impersonation of his father, if not for the differences in their subjects. Wherein his father would dissect frogs and animals and human cadavers, Dib was tackling a still-living alien.  
  
He walked into the Zim Bunker, where Zim was suspended in the air by a robotic arm plugged into his PAK. As much as Dib wanted to examine the PAK, he didn’t want to risk irreparable damage, and he needed to keep Zim alive. He wasn’t a monster, and Zim was more useful to him if he could talk—even if he was insufferable. For the moment, however, he didn’t have to worry about Zim mouthing off when drool trailed out of his mouth and his head was swollen to an impressive size. The scans indicated that some parts of the brain and skull were starting to knit themselves together, but at a much slower rate than Dib expected it to be.  
  
Dib poked at the console, wondering if he was getting faulty readings. He needed to assess the extent of the damage. It would be ideal to have a healthy specimen to compare the results too, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Plus, Dib felt certain that most Irkens were flailing in the florpus. At least Zim had inadvertently taken care of the problem of an imminent alien invasion for him.  
  
He opened the glass wall and stepped into the cell. Dib pulled up a metal stool behind Zim and stepped up.  
  
“Okay, Zim, we’re gonna take a little look at your brain,” said Dib. His voice warbled from the excitement.  
  
Dib held out his hand. With a click, a panel in the wall retracted and a metal arm came out, handing Dib a scalpel. He took a nervous breath.  
  
He’d practiced this so many times on dummies and roadkill and the occasional dead body, but being able to do it on the real thing sent tingles down his spine. Dib steadied himself. He was a professional.  
  
He sliced Zim’s head open from his upper forehead to halfway down the back of his skull. There wasn’t any blood, nor any indication that he’d even made a cut except for the thin line.   
  
Then it fell open like an overstuffed burrito.  
  
Dib gagged as a foul, horrible, deathly odour filled his nostrils, and he was right in the line of fire, too. He fell off the stool with a clatter, bile bubbling in his throat and threatening to spill all over his sterile environment. Eyes watering, the overwhelming stench of rotten eggs blinded him. Dib had been exposed to some truly vile things in his life, but this was an inhuman odour.  
  
“Can’t...breathe...need...to...ventilate!” Dib heaved.  
  
He fumbled inside his pocket and found a remote control for the cell. With the hit of a button, fans whirred on overhead and the smell started to dissipate from the environment. Sadly, the rotten egg stench in his nasal cavity settled in for the winter.  
  
Dib used the stool as leverage to get himself back up, positioning it back behind Zim. Pink fluid trailed down from the fresh cut on Zim’s head. Vomit threatened to explode all over the place, but he swallowed it down and reached for the beakers in his pocket instead. He gathered up a bit of the fluid and examined it in the light. Was this his blood? It was a mildly translucent pink, and all-in-all not unpleasant colour, like very runny bubblegum pink paint.  
  
While he could’ve used tools to pry Zim’s head open, there was something a little more satisfying about using his hands, and Dib was stubborn. He’d been waiting for this moment for too long to not be able to feel it. Grabbing the flaps of skin, he gently worked it open until he could see inside.  
  
Zim’s skull was still very badly damaged, and he only had to move a few pieces to see the exposed ‘brain’ on the inside. What should’ve been a fully formed organ was a pile of mush, and that seemed to be where the stench was coming from. Dib hacked again and decided to breathe through his mouth, even though he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. The pale pink mush inside bubbled as Dib stared.  
  
Well. This was questionable. Dib poked at it a little. Committing, he pulled out a beaker and took a healthy-sized sample of the brain mush.  
  
“I don’t think you’ll miss this,” said Dib, his voice weak from the effort of trying not to puke all over his subject. “If we’re lucky, this is part of your frontal lobe.”  
  
He held out the beaker to one of the robot arms, which took it and retreated into the wall. Something to analyze later under a microscope. Dib stuck his hand inside of Zim’s brains. It was surprisingly warm. Curious to see how far he could go, he put his arm in up to his elbow. He flexed his fingers a little, feeling brain mush slide between them like a gelatinous blob.  
  
Dib was contemplating how neural tissue could reconnect from damage like this when his father’s voice belted out from the hallway.  
  
“Dinnertime!” Membrane called.  
  
“Bit busy, Dad!” Dib shouted back.  
  
“No buts! The family that eats together does science together!”  
  
“I’m dissecting! Can’t talk right now!” Dib pulled a wad of Zim’s brain out and held it in his hands. The glop dripped between his fingers, but managed to maintain some form.  
  
“Oo, you’re dissecting?” Membrane said. His footsteps became heavier. “I’m pleased to see that you’ve taken an interest in science.”  
  
Membrane turned the corner and looked into his closet. He stopped short upon seeing Dim elbow-deep in Zim’s brain, taking in the entire set-up.  
  
“Ah, I can see you’ve made marvellous progress with your...‘alien’ bunker,” said Membrane. "Are you dissecting your little friend's brains? How nice!"  
  
“Does everyone know about this place?” Dib grumbled. “I can’t talk, Dad. I’m performing an alien dissection on a real alien this time.”  
  
“Oh, ho, ho! That’s nice, son. Your friend’s costume is quite convincing, but it’s time for dinner now. You can keep dissecting his brain afterwards.”  
  
“No, Dad! It’s not a costume! He’s a real alien! You know this! He almost destroyed the world! If you just look at the scans, you’ll see! His organs aren’t human!”  
  
“Well, genetic deformities are something that can’t be helped, but I’m sure your friend isn’t worse for wear for it. Why don’t you invite him to stay for dinner?”  
  
“What? No. Dad, he’s not a friend, he’s a test subject.”  
  
“It would only be polite and we have plenty of leftovers.”  
  
“But Dad—”  
  
“No buts. It’s not every day you have a friend over, so let’s make it an occasion. I’d like to see what kind of children you’re socializing with. You can keep playing afterwards.”  
  
“Dad, I’m not playing.” Dib held out the part of Zim’s brain in his hand. “This is a real brain. A real alien brain. I am literally elbow deep in alien! After everything that’s happened, how can you not be convinced that aliens are real?”  
  
Membrane gave a patient laugh. “Son, what happened was a mass psychogenic illness. Everyone knows that aliens aren’t real. Now come down to dinner and bring your friend. It’s pasta night!”  
  
Dib wanted to scream at Membrane and tell him that this wasn’t playing. His chest went tight-tight-tight with defiance, like someone pulling shoelaces too hard, before the tension released. This wasn’t a battle he could win at the moment. Membrane gave a friendly wave and made his exit before Dib could even protest.  
  
He stared down into Zim’s brains. Well, Membrane wouldn’t be happy if he brought a dissection to the dinner table when it wasn’t even a Saturday. Thoughts about how he wanted to approach this situation rolled through him, though he had a feeling Membrane wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. There was nothing to it. He’d have to bring Zim to dinner. It was a good thing he was a vegetable incapable of speaking or he would actually be concerned.  
  
A gurgling noise sounded out of the back of Zim’s throat.  
  
The noise rippled up Dib's arm. He felt like Zim's horrible, horrible voice was vibrating all the way through him, and there was no time to pull out when he spoke.  
  
“_Fred_...” Zim gurgled.  
  
Dib froze. Oh no. Oh no, no, no—there was no way this was happening. To say that he hadn’t expected words was a bit of an understatement. Chills prickled up and down his spine before settling somewhere behind his eyes, creating a painful, throbbing migraine. Under his hands, Zim shifted slightly.  
  
“Wha’s happenin’...?” Zim slurred.  
  
Dib went rigid like someone had pressed pause on his remote control. Still elbow-deep in mushy alien brain, he dared to look up at the glass. In the reflection, he saw Zim’s eyes rolling freely in their sockets, unable to lock onto a target. To say that he looked terrible was a bit of an understatement. His green skin paled to a vomit-like colour, and he reached up to his head. Dib grab the groping hand to steady it.  
  
“Uh oh,” Dib murmured. “Uh...hey, Zim. You’re my prisoner. My hands are in your brain right now, so try not to move until I get them out.”  
  
In the reflection, Zim’s eyes found his. He squinted. “...Fred?”  
  
“No—Dib,” Dib corrected him.  
  
“...Fred...”  
  
“No. It’s Dib. Your mortal enemy, and now your captor.”  
  
Dib stuffed Zim’s brain back in his head and did his best to pull the skin shut. Stepping back, he let the robotic arms do the rest. The arm plugged his PAK lifted him, and two more emerged from the wall. One held a roll of bandages, the other held a staple gun. With a pop-pop-pop and a bit of flailing, the robot arms stapled Zim’s head back together, then wrapped him tightly up in gauze. Some pink splotches started to bleed through the bandages, but nothing too serious. When the arms were done, Zim’s PAK popped off and he landed on the ground with a splat.  
  
“Okay, get up,” said Dib, kicking his side. “My dad wants you to stay for dinner. He thinks we’re friends.”  
  
“...Where’m I?” Zim murmured.  
  
“You’re at my house. I captured you.”  
  
Dib opened the glass door and hauled Zim to his feet. Zim swayed dangerously to the side, and Dib made no effort to help him as he hit the cell wall.  
  
“You can’t capture nuthin’," Zim said, with some difficulty. A lot of difficulty.  
  
Dib sighed. This was going to be harder than he expected it to be. He seized Zim’s ankle and dragged him out to the hall and down the stairs, not caring when he heard the distinctive thump of Zim’s already injured head hitting each step.  
  
When he marched into the kitchen, he found everyone else already gathered. Gaz was leaning back in her chair, engrossed in her Game Slave as Dib forced Zim into the chair next to her. She paused her game and shoved her chair to the other side of the table.  
  
“Ah, good of you to join us, son,” said Membrane.  
  
Plates of pasta were at each setting, though Clembrane was adding a significant portion of pudding to his. Foodio 3000 hovered nearby, looking distraught as this heinous food crime being committed. With everyone settled, Dib was struck by how normal this seemed, even with Zim there. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past where his dad's presence during meals had been a rarity, or him being gone from home at days at a time. However, at some point, he'd begun to make an effort to take time off from work, and it occurred to Dib how he hadn't appreciated it.  
  
Everything would be perfect except for the alien. Shaken out of his thoughts, Dib glowered Zim. Zim didn't look like he was aware of where he was. He swayed and twitched in his chair, staring down at the pasta plate.  
  
“Aw, did you bring a school friend to dinner?” Clembrane asked.  
  
“Zim’s not my friend, he’s my experiment, and he’s an alien,” Dib insisted.  
  
“Don’t be silly, son, there’s no such thing as aliens,” said Clembrane.  
  
“You see, Dib?” said Membrane. “Even your other father agrees that there’s no such thing as aliens.”  
  
“He IS an alien. Look at him!”  
  
They all did. With a trembling three-pronged hand, Zim took a fork. He promptly shoved it into his head. Fortunately, the gauze seemed to absorb most of the damage, but then he put his hands down and sat there, twitching and staring right through them.  
  
"Gaz, tell them," Dib begged.  
  
Gaz looked up. Surveyed Zim. "Looks like an ordinary human to me."  
  
"Not helping, Gaz."  
  
"And what country are you from, Zim?" Membrane asked.  
  
Zim squinted at Membrane. “...Fred? You got taller...how'd you do that?”  
  
“What’d you do to him, Dib?” Gaz asked. “Did you lobotomize him?  
  
"No," Dib denied.  
  
Gaz didn't break eye contact.  
  
"Okay, I took out a little piece of brain," Dib admitted. "It's fine! I'll put it back later."  
  
"Y'know, you're dumber than you look if you think that's how brains work," said Gaz. "You should consider a lobotomy for yourself. Maybe you won't be so dumb then."  
  
"Aw, that's not a nice thing to say about your brother's friends," Clembrane scolded her. "Imagine how you would feel if your brother said that about your friends"  
  
"I don't have friends. I haven't met my equal yet."  
  
Clembrane's fishy face pulled downward, then he perked up again. "I got an idea. How about you share your friend with your sister, son?"  
  
"No," said Gaz.  
  
"He's not my friend," Dib reminded Clembrane uselessly.  
  
"Even if I did want friends, Zim would be far down on my list of candidates. Like, at the bottom. Rock bottom. Right next to Dib."  
  
Dib opened his mouth to bite back as much as he felt comfortable when it came to Gaz, but then he was interrupted by Zim crawling onto the dinner table. Gaz snatched her food out of his way as he staggered over to Membrane and fell against him, tugging on his head like a desperate zombie about to sink his claws into his next victim.  
  
“Tell me your secrets, human scum,” said Zim.  
  
“Your friend seems very eccentric, Dib,” Membrane said without missing a beat. “I’m proud of you for making friends with someone who shares your interests, even if they are extremely unscientific. The important thing is that you get the recommended level of positive social interaction in your age group.”  
  
“He’s still not my friend,” said Dib. “Zim, would you get off my dad? You’re embarrassing me.”  
  
Clembrane acted first. He grabbed Zim’s bandaged head and deposited him back in his seat, wagging his spoon at him. “No crawling on the table at dinner. Here, have some pudding with your pasta.”  
  
He deposited a healthy portion of pudding on his pasta. Zim’s left eye blinked slowly, then the right.  
  
“...Wha’ happened...?” Zim murmured.  
  
“You’re my prisoner,” Dib informed him. He put a healthy amount of pasta on his fork and shoved it in his mouth. He let the taste slid over his tongue, and took pause. “Dad...why does this pasta taste like fish?”  
  
“It’s genetically enhanced pasta,” Membrane explained.  
  
“How does changing the pasta to taste like fish enhance it in any way?”  
  
“It’s just a preliminary experiment, son. Imagine if I can alter the taste of any food. Then it would be a simple matter to get any picky child to eat gross vegetables or questionable cafeteria food.”  
  
“Blegh, as long as it doesn’t taste like pig,” said Gaz.  
  
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Dib asked.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
One of Gaz’s eyes pried open to focus on Zim. Following her gaze, he saw that Zim was patting his bandages as if noticing them for the first time.  
  
“...Wha’ happened?” Zim asked again.  
  
“For the last time, you’re my prisoner,” Dib snapped.  
  
Zim’s eyes rolled in their sockets before fixing on Dib. “...Who’re you? Where’z th’ Tallest?”  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh._  
  
That was bad.  
  
“He needs more pudding!” Clembrane decided.  
  
“NO!” Dib screamed. “No more pudding! He’s—allergic! Probably. We should really get back to dissecting...”  
  
“Shucks, there’s no such thing as a pudding allergy,” Clembrane denied. “If you were allergic to pudding, you’d have to be allergic to love. And no one’s allergic to love.”  
  
“Trust me, if anyone’s allergic to love, it’s Zim.”  
  
“No one can be allergic to love! SCIENCE SAYS SO!”  
  
Before Dib could stop him, Clembrane teleported by Zim’s side and shoved a huge spoonful of pudding into his mouth. The moment after the pudding disappeared extended into eternity. Dib watched Zim twitch a little, then he let out an ear-piercing scream and threw himself to the floor.  
  
“IT BURNS!” Zim shrieked. “THE PAIN! _THE AGONY!_ MY VOICE HURTS MY HEAD!”  
  
Despite the apparent pain his own voice was causing, it didn’t stop him from screaming. Smoke sizzled out of his open mouth, and Dib took this opportunity. Unable to hear anyone calling his name, Dib leapt out of his chair and hauled Zim out of the kitchen.  
  
It was a bit of a struggle getting Zim back upstairs with him flapping about and screaming. Dib wondered if all science experiments screamed this much. When they got back to his room, Dib tried to shut Zim up by shoving a t-shirt into his mouth. Which Zim swallowed. Even if it did cost Dib a perfectly good t-shirt, after the t-shirt had gone down his throat, Zim finally shut up. Instead of convulsing in unbearable agony, he simply looked nauseous.  
  
Dib roughly seized Zim and hauled him back to the cell. The robot arms plugged into his PAK and lifted him off the ground.  
  
“Okay, pop quiz,” said Dib. “Do you know who I am?”  
  
Zim’s eyes came in and out of focus. “Fred?”  
  
“No, I’m Dib. Do you remember me?”  
  
“I’m...yer Fred," said Zim.  
  
“It’s Dib. What do you remember? Think really, really hard. This is important."  
  
Zim screwed up his face. His head lulled to the side, a bit of drool trailing out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Dib stepped back. Okay, he had to look at this logically. Memory loss was a normal part of a head injury, and Zim forgetting who he was might not be a bad thing. Still, Dib couldn't deny the frustration of not knowing much about Irken biology in general. Most of everything he'd learned was guesswork or observation—not exactly sound scientific methods.  
  
Forming a plan, Dib went into the hall in time to catch Gaz on her way back to her room. There was pudding on her head.  
  
"Hey, thanks for abandoning me at the dinner table, jerk," Gaz punched Dib's arm.  
  
"Can you help me with something?" Dib asked.  
  
"Are you serious right now? Did you lobotomize Zim or yourself?"  
  
"It's not a lobotomy."  
  
"If you took out his brain, that sounds like a lobotomy to me."  
  
"I'm gonna put it back," Dib stamped his foot.  
  
"Whatever. I'm going."  
  
"Wait, I could use your help!" Dib blocked her path. "I'll do something for you in return. A favour for a favour?"  
  
"You already owe me for leaving me to deal with Clembrane at dinner. Your life already belongs to me."  
  
"C'mon, I'll—I'll buy you a game. I'll play a game with you. I won't watch Mysterious Mysteries for a week. Please, please, please, please, please?"  
  
“Ugh, you’re such a pain,” said Gaz. “This is why no one likes you.”  
  
Gaz jabbed at his chest.  
  
"You buy me some games," Gaz told him. "What's the favour?"  
  
“I need you to talk to Zim,” Dib said brightly.  
  
Gaz was quiet. Then, “No way. I already filled my idiot quota for the day.”  
  
“No, no, no—wait!” Dib blocked her path again when she ducked under her arm. “You don’t even have to have a deep, enthralling conversation or anything. You just need to talk to him about the weather or something, or—or insult him! You’re good at insulting people.”  
  
“What for? Can’t you do that yourself?”  
  
“I need to run diagnostics, and I need someone to stimulate his brain. I want to confirm a theory I have.”  
  
Gaz scowled.  
  
“Games, Gaz!” Dib said, trying his best salesman voice into his tone. “I’ll buy you any games you want!”  
  
The scowl deepened. A vein throbbed in her forehead, then it shrunk to a less concerning size. “You owe me. Big time."  
  
“Thanks, Gaz!”  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Just shut up.”  
  
Gaz followed him back to the Zim Bunker. Zim looked up at their approach, looking confused and a little lost. Dib tried not to focus on him too much as he returned to the console, and Gaz planted herself in front of the glass.  
  
“Gaz is gonna talk to you for a bit,” Dib told Zim. “Let me know if you feel anything weird. I want to know everything that happens.”  
  
Zim twitched a little. Dib turned to the console and began diagnostics on the PAK.  
  
“This is so annoying,” said Gaz. “Hey, Zim. You’re dumb.”  
  
Zim squinted. “Who're you?”  
  
“Stupid alien. I’m Gaz.”  
  
“...Wha’ happened...?” Zim clutched his head.  
  
“You got clobbered or something, what do I care?” Gaz scowled.  
  
“...Wha’s this thing in my head...?”  
  
“That’s a fork.”  
  
Zim felt around for the fork and pulled it out. He stared at it in his hand, then shoved it—whole—into his mouth. For a moment, Dib entertained the idea that he would actually be able to swallow it, then Zim hacked and choked on the fork, and it clattered to the ground.  
  
“You FOOL!” Zim screamed. “You tried to MURDER ME TO DEATH!”  
  
“I didn’t tell you to eat the fork, stupid,” said Gaz. “Not my fault you’re dumb.”  
  
"Horrible death utensil!" Zim seethed with a more of the fire Dib was accustomed to. "How DARE you...uh...you...you dare...?"  
  
The fire faded as quickly as it had ignited. On the console, the PAK diagnostics were halfway done.  
  
"...Where?" Zim trailed off. He blinked. "Wha'...Wha' happened? Where...?"  
  
"You ate a fork," said Gaz. "I can't believe Clembrane wants me to be friends with you. You couldn't even destroy the Earth properly."  
  
"Destroy?" Zim clutched his head. "I...destroyed something...wha' was it this time?"  
  
"The Earth. I already told you."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Like, a few days ago."  
  
"I don't...remember..." Zim scratched at the gauze on his head.  
  
Zim twitched a little. Then, he giggled. Dib had heard Zim cackle, guffaw, howl, and convulse with laughter, but never giggled. His limbs, suspended in the air, gyrated a little and clenched close to his body.  
  
“That tickles!” Zim sniggered.  
  
Gaz was quiet for a long, long moment. Finally, as if unable to hold back her curiosity, she turned to Dib. “What’s wrong with him?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Dib admitted. The console beeped to announce that the diagnostics were finished. "There doesn't appear to be any damage to his PAK. That's where his memories are, so there shouldn't be any issues. I wonder if a functional brain is required to interpret them."  
  
"So, what? He's an amnesiac now? You played with his brains and now he doesn't remember anything?"  
  
“No, the memories are there, he’s having trouble processing them,” said Dib. “Brains normally do all the things a PAK does, so I think that for Irken, it must act more like an information filter. With his brain being all mushy, there’s nothing to interpret the information, so parts of it are just shooting off. I don’t think he’s lost his memory. In layman’s terms, he’s confused.”  
  
“So you broke him.”  
  
“I didn’t break him! His brain was mushy when I found him.”  
  
“Don’t be dumb, Dib. You played around with your alien toy and you broke him.”  
  
“He’s not a toy. He’s an experiment.”  
  
“But you played around with it.”  
  
“I took a small sample.”  
  
“That’s gross, Dib.”  
  
“He’s not gonna miss it. Besides, he’s gonna spend the rest of his existence in a lab, anyway. What does it matter if he’s missing one small piece of it? This is a big discovery, Gaz! I didn’t think that the PAK needed the brain to function, but they’re interdependent on one another. Isn’t that an exciting discovery?”  
  
“I’m overflowing with joy,” Gaz drawled.  
  
“Why’m I floatin’...?” Zim mumbled from the other side of the glass. He looked down at his feet. “I wanna...wha’s happenin’?”  
  
Zim squinted through the glass, taking in the humans.  
  
“I feel the overwhelming and irrevocable urge to DESTROY YOU!” he yelled. Zim flinched and clutched his bandages. “Nngh...my magnificent mind...”  
  
Dib sighed. “Well, at least some of his brain is working.”  
  
Zim kicked his feet above the ground, apparently coming more to his senses, although there was still a hazed, unfocused look about him as his hands pressed against the glass.  
  
“Let me out, Fred!” Zim shouted. “I demand my release!”  
  
“My name’s not Fred, it’s DIB!” Dib yelled.  
  
Zim’s hands retracted from the glass, looking teary and eerily vulnerable. His skin faded to a paler shade of green. “Okay, you don’t have to yell at me...awful human worm!”  
  
“I liked him better when he was quiet,” said Gaz.   
  
Just as Gaz said that, Zim retched.  
  
Dib flattened his body against the wall. Of course. Head injuries sometimes resulted in vomiting, but he hadn’t been sure that it would happen to Zim. The washed-out pallor of his face almost radiated a sick, nauseating stench, worse than the one that had protruded from his open brain wound. Then his eye went pale, his mouth open, and a stream of pink poured onto the ground.  
  
“Aw, c’mon!” Dib exclaimed. He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if I can get a sample of that...”  
  
"You're gross, Dib," said Gaz. She made her exit without another word.  
  
Before Dib had time to think on the urge to take samples, Zim vomited again. Then the vomit started to smoke, eating away at the floor, letting out a faint hiss as it bubbled.  
  
“Oo, it’s acidic!” Dib marvelled.  
  
Zim swayed and looked up glassily. “...Who’re you...?”  
  
Dib turned his back on him and examined the results of the diagnostics. The PAK wasn't damaged. It was the brain that was the problem. Zim would be fine once the brain reformed.  
  
Dib could hear the inner Zim screaming at him now, unforgiving in its pitch. He really, really, really, really, really didn’t want to feel anything right now. But like Zim flailing on the floor bemoaning that his Tallest had abandoned him, despite Zim having betrayed him that time too, Dib felt something. It felt like compassion. And nausea. The nausea might’ve been a result of the fish-flavoured pasta.  
  
He sighed and hit the remote. The robot arms dislodged Zim and he fell into his own vomit in a heap.  
  
“I’ll destroy you,” Zim moaned, moving his arms like he was swimming.  
  
“Okay, stop that,” said Dib. He bent down by Zim. “I don’t know if you can understand me at the moment, but let me make a few things perfectly clear. I don’t like you. I hate you. I hate your guts. Well, not your guts. I think your guts are very fascinating and I can’t wait to cut them up into little tiny pieces. Specifically, I hate your personality. Unfortunately, your personality is attached to the body that I want to dissect, so I can’t have one without the other.”  
  
Zim tilted his head to the side and stared up at him without comprehension.  
  
Dib inhaled, catching his breath. “But, the fact of the matter is that you’re my prisoner and Gaz is gonna kill me when that vomit eats through the house. So I’m going to have to help you get out of this...” He gestured to the general area. “Mess, since you can’t clean yourself up at the moment.”  
  
Zim gurgled. So did the acidic vomit.  
  
“So against my better judgment, I’m going to let you out of the cell,” said Dib. "But I'm going to...yeah. Hang on."  
  
Dib went over to his bed and fished a container out of it. There were various projects he kept in it—discarded ideas he'd entertained using against Zim. What he was looking for, however, was right on top of the pile, and not in terrible condition when he examined it.  
  
He returned to Zim and attached a blinking ankle bracelet to him.  
  
"If you try to leave the house, this ankle bracelet's gonna shock you," said Dib. He adjusted the settings on it. "No escaping."  
  
He grabbed Zim by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Zim, however, was unable to support his weight and collapsed back again. Zim grumbled and moaned, sitting up and clawing at his bandaged head. He almost looked innocent, for someone who had almost successfully obliterated the Earth.  
  
Almost.

* * *

Outside, there was no indication that Dib was keeping an alien in his house. The only indication that something was amiss was the little green dog skipping down the street.  
  
GIR wasn’t an unusual sight in the neighbourhood, but even if he was, the people of Earth were so pathetically stupid that they wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to take issue with him in the first place. It was how GIR functioned day-to-day, and in his complete obliviousness mixed with insanity, there was a kind of strange sanctuary.  
  
GIR arrived at Zim's house, finishing off the last bit of milkshake he’d picked up on the way over. He took a long, long time just standing at the end of the walkway, sucking on the straw until the last bit was gone. Then, he dumped the entire cup in his mouth and swallowed it. At least he wasn’t polluting the environment with the plastic straw. Tearing up a little at having finished his milkshake, he skipped up and entered the house.  
  
In the day and some-odd-hours that Zim had been gone, the house had been trashed due to an impromptu house party and an unfortunate incident involving a fire extinguisher and a left shoe. The kitchen was the worst offender, coated with cake batter, discarded pizzas, and a kitten currently licking up a carton of milk spilled on the floor. The living room was knee-deep in streamers, with balloons hovering near the pipes and tubes in the ceiling. Minimoose was currently keeping himself busy floating with them without a care in the world, eyes focused in different directions.  
  
“Lucy, I’m home!” GIR announced.  
  
The computer, on account of having killed itself, didn’t answer back. Neither did Zim, on account of not being there.  
  
The only thing that did answer was Minimoose with an excited “Nyah!"  
  
GIR stood in the quiet for a moment. He enjoyed having the house to himself during the day, but always looked forward to when his master got back from school. And according to his internal clock, he was well overdue. He’d assumed that Dib was taking him over for a sleepover, but maybe it was time for him to check-in.  
  
GIR pulled off the head of his disguise, wearing it like a hoodie around his shoulders. He hopped over to the phone. Zim had Dib on speed dial—so he could prank call him at least a few times a week and inform him that his refrigerator was running at maximum efficiency. GIR wrestled himself as he thought about ordering pizza—but no. Master first. Pizza second.  
  
The phone rang twice before it was picked up.  
  
“Hello?” It was Dib’s voice.  
  
“Hi!” GIR waved, despite Dib not being able to see him.  
  
“Oh, it’s you,” Dib said. “What do you want?”  
  
GIR waved some more. “Hi!”  
  
“Hello to you, too.”  
  
More waving. “Hi!”  
  
“Did you want something?” Dib asked.  
  
“Can Master come over to play?” GIR asked.  
  
“No, he’s my prisoner.”  
  
“Oh.” GIR rocked back and forth. “Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Can he come over to play now?”  
  
“No, he’s still my prisoner, like he was five seconds ago.”  
  
“Oh. Can I come see him? He forgot his toothbrush!” GIR produced a very hairy, very used toothbrush out of his head that Zim had never used in his life. At least, not for its intended purpose.  
  
“No, you’re just trying to get access to my house so you can rescue him,” Dib snapped. “Don’t call this number anymore.”  
  
And then, dial tone.  
  
“Okay, I love you, bye-bye!” GIR said to the dial tone.  
  
GIR hung the phone up, waddled to the couch, and threw himself on it to stare at the television. This was the part of the day where he always sat around, mindless. Not thinking. Watching endless upon endless hours of television, interspersed with Zim yelling at him.  
  
GIR was made to obey his master, but he’d never been good at that, though not for a lack of trying. If anything, somehow in the process of creation for some unfathomable reason which only the Tallest knew, his programming was crisscrossed and upside-down and all tangled up with incredible emotion, and lots and lots of distractions. Zim was the only thing in his feeble existence that kept him on track, and the house seemed quieter and lonelier without him there.  
  
Like a lost child, GIR pulled a blanket out from under the sofa cushion and pulled it around himself. He shivered, despite not feeling the cold. Was the house always this big and lonely, even with his cartoons going? Despite himself, GIR’s fragmented thoughts kept going back to Zim. He needed him to burst down the front door and tell him to stop snivelling and do something useful for a change. Then Zim would get angry over the mess, and launch into a tirade about how he was going to conquer the world on behalf of the Tallest next. And describe the many, many ways he wanted to rip apart Dib.  
  
GIR weighed the pros and cons of Zim not being here. On the plus side, no one could change the channel. He wouldn’t have to clean up Zim’s messes or be the test dummy in some of his crazier experiments.  
  
On the negative side, no one to keep him company or buy him food.  
  
Thinking was not his strong suit, but GIR thought as hard as he could. He thought so hard that time passed, and outside the sunset and then rose again. Smoke started to billow out of his head as he dedicated all his minuscule processing power to try to come to a decision.  
  
GIR cast off the blanket and stood on the couch, hands on his hips.  
  
“I’m gonna RESCUE the master!” GIR proclaimed. He looked up to Minimoose. “You wanna help?”  
  
“Nyah!” Minimoose agreed, which in Minimoose terms, was a terrifying battle cry that struck fears into the hearts of his enemies. Even GIR trembled a little.  
  
“You’re scaring me,” GIR shivered. It took him a minute or two to recover. This wasn’t the time to feel sorry for himself. This was the time for action, and Zim was depending on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why I'm writing this fic but I'm glad you guys seem to like it for some reason? <3


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